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Stripy Riding Hood

My own personal soapbox and news channel

Posts tagged with:

“Relocation”

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay4HAsc
Monday January 19, 2009
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San Francisco: The Waiting Days

So it comes a point in a relocation that you wait.

And you wait some more.

And nothing is moving.. nothing is happening.

You have sent your resume out, you have tried to network, you have called, asked, smiled, hand-shook and thank-lettered.

And you wait.

Mostly because there is this misguided notion that if you are new to a country, you can’t adapt or understand the working culture fast enough. And having hired people myself, I know how much the fitting-in factor plays a part in the selection.

However.

How can you make that decision before meeting someone? I have always made a point of taking the time to even do quick 15 minute interviews as introductions just on the sole purpose of ensuring that my decision on who I am hiring is not prejudged or uninformed.

The wait drives you to run in circles around yourself, second guessing your abilities, your skills your wants and your can-dos and have-dones.

And I know that at some point people will just start calling me.. and I know that once I got that first job I will have people head hunting me because my experience and skills are solid. However, everyone prefers that someone else takes the risk first.

I want to work. I am tired of sitting around and dealing with our relocation, our apartment and any other trivial crap. I want to wake up in the morning, put my clothes on and use my skills and experience to make someone else’s work and experience easier and nicer and more fulfilling.

Call me.

(or e-mail.. I am easy).

Song of the day:

She works hard for the money, Donna Summer

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3r2Qj
Wednesday December 10, 2008
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San Francisco: The Boxed-In Days

So at some point, all those nicely planned (note the word planned, not executed) boxes you organised on the other side of the pond, are returned to you.

Oh what a day that is.

The unloading of our home was monumental: Three men crew (too few), three floors up (three too many it seems), and one hundred and eighty “boxes” later (don’t ask) I am stood in the middle of our new apartment, on one leg, holding one box cutter, wondering if slitting my wrists or unpacking is going to be the most sane thing to do.

Added bonus: Having to unpack as many boxes as possible for the refuse pick up the movers do so as to have them come by only once.

Try doing that in a small apartment.

I did.

Today after the debris pick up I finally regained the dining area of our kitchen.. And the corridor.. and part of the bedroom.

I felt like the Alien re-birthing from the belly of that crew member that died first and no one remembers hence forward due to the coming crazy events.

For this move we have also decided (I say we because it was indeed a joint decision between The Husband and I) to Purge. Which is a good thing. To a point.

Now along with all the stuff that need to find a place for, I have also to find a way to get four IKEA blue bags worth of clothes, three pieces of furniture, one box of kitchenware and a suitcase (not final as the purge is ongoing and will extend to books and linens) to charities around San Francisco without a car.

And while I tiptoe through piles of clothes, cables, Oliver, crap, chairs, mattresses, guitars and electronics I can’t pick myself up to do what is Important.

Here I am, having a friend fly over from Vancouver (HOLLAAAR!) on Boxing Day and instead of making sense of it all I am doing everything else:

Ordering New Cooky tags for Oliver from Fetching Tags and spending time browsing the dog gallery… Trying to put up hooks on a wall that just isn’t built to hold anything (old Marina houses in San Fran are not built for fancy things like hooks!).. Watching Lipstick Jungle and wondering why the hell did Nico choose a baby over that hot stud-muffin she bagged (some women NEED to get their priorities straight the kid will just crap everywhere and yell at you what a horrible parent you are.. stud-muffin on other hand will not).. and in general, just doing some good ol’ procrastinating.

I promise myself that tomorrow I will DO SHIT and GET MOVING and then I feel good about it and go grab some coffee flavoured frozen yogurt and watch some more crap TV.

Song of the hour:

Row, Row, Row your Boat… Gently Down The Stream..

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3l9Hm
Tuesday December 02, 2008
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San Francisco Relo: The Super Market Factor

So, there is a point after you have finally relocated to your new country that you have to face the Great Unknown of the local super markets.

What that is, is essentially the feeling of anxiety, excitement, panic, joy and combination of when going through shelves and shelves of product you have no idea if you like, are healthy, have too much sugar or carbs or fat.

I am a creature of comforts. I like to have my brand of milk/soup/whatever.

I am also an avid reader of nutrition labels. You need to know what you put in your body even if you choose the crap high-fat, high-cal  whatever as opposed to the low-fat “healthy” version.

If you are going to abuse your body, ensure you know what you are abusing it with (this is by far the biggest reason why I never endulged in any chemical drugs.. I refuse to have glue and strychnine floating in my blood).

So what happens for the first few months is that every trip to the super market is A Great Adventure Into The Unknown. It entails taking down notes, staring down aisles (which alarms the local workforce a LOT) and questions such as “I thought you were getting some milk and bread, what took you so long?” from Hubby.

The first time I really experienced The Super Market Factor was visiting a Tesco (Heathen yeah, yeah, I know..) in London: The sheer variation of goods, the versatility (who knew you could get Peruvian whatever smack middle in London?!) was new to me. I had only come from lil Greece where people buy pretty much the same things they did 60 years ago.

The feeling is the same every time.

It is that mild discomfort of having to reorganise your underwear drawers and throwing out whatever is broken beyond fixing and trying to get excited with this new bra you had to buy because yours is discontinued (yet not understanding why that happened! it was perfect!).

The one thing I really don’t like about American food products is that everything is sickeningly sweet. Syrupy almost.. and for a person who doesn’t really have a sweet tooth, that is not very appealing.

Which means that hopefully I will lose some more weight! BONUS Bling Bling Bling!!

Song of the Moment:

1979 by Smashing Pumpkins

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3fm6U
Monday November 24, 2008
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San Francisco Day Seventeen: Weekend Bonanza!

This weekend was the first weekend Dominic and I did Stuff around the city.

It was a great experience just walking from place to place, trying to figure it out.

The more I see of this place, the more I like it!

We had a great time during Saturday afternoon walking around Market Street (central) ending up at the Embarcadero and at night meeting with good friends over at Mission (being driven there by Taxi Dude -hubby describes the whole experience- was awesome too).

Today we walked around SOMA with Oliver trying to find a cheap, nice place to eat al fresco (with pooch we can only eat al fresco, rain or shine). All I could see what the fantastic SFMoma looming from across the street, or better yet, lurcing or crouching and think “Soon my pretty.. soon…”. Am planning on an outting next weekend!

This is another calm before the storm: This week am getting keys to the new places (pictures to follow), having a “dry run” with Oliver on the bus on Thanksgiving (because you are allowed canines on the bus, how said canine might react to the whole commotion is a different story so a day where no one is going to be on said bus is perfect), and eventually getting our 20’ container moved in and up three flights of stairs and unpacked by our movers who are inevitably going to hate us for said three flights of stairs, me unpacking the apartment and hopefully hearing from some job applications.

Song of the day:

She Bangs, She Bangs, by wotshisface

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3e4Tz
Friday November 21, 2008
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San Francisco Day Seventeen: Apraxia

So tell a person who is used to being in Charge of things to sit around and wait.

No really, try it. It doesn’t work, does it?

So currently, amidst the general apraxia that is beating me on the head with a stick due to everything being in limbo, I decided to Get Organised.

Getting Organised for someone who doesn’t have anything to do, is dangerous. It is a thick line between sanity and oh-my-fucking-skies-it-is-totally-normal-to-wear-a-teapot-as-a-hat-I-look-gorgeous.

Armed with the knowledge that come Tuesday I am getting the keys to our new apartment and doing an apartment check-in with the property manager, I thought I need to ready myself (five days too soon? Maybe? Wanna write a story about it?).

So in the middle of the night, while the Innocent Husband was deeply asleep, I prepared a pile. The pile consisted of: Apartment contract and check in list, San Francisco Guide (don’t ask), stack of post-its, two pens, a measuring tape, a notepad and a night-light.

Why a night-light I hear you asking? AHAHAHA! Well. Funny you should ask: When doing a check of a rental apartment, one is required to confirm that all is in working order. Having been in some weird apartments with really crappy electrics, checking all plugs is essential. What better way with a night light that fits in your palm? (“I knew it would come in handy when I packed it”, said the crazy woman in the scraggly hair, hunched over in the corner rubbing her hands with glee). I am prepared.

So the measuring tape is to measure all the rooms. Which sounds ok. Only, since the container is not being delivered until around the 1st of December and I want the movers to place things correctly in the apartment, I need a way to be sure and point them where to drop stuff.

So I made scale cut-outs of our furniture.

Mind you, it is only 2D.. Nothing fancy like a doll house or anything just your standard 1:10 scale that represents the space the furniture occupies in the room.

This, you see, enables me once I have the apartment measurements, to quickly draw a 2D representation of the apartment and play interior decorator.

I have way too much free time in my hands…

Come to think of it.. maybe I should make it a 3D. To get a better feel for the heights of the bookcases.. hmmmm..

Song of the Moment:

Once In A Lifetime, Talking Heads

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3Xx8e
Tuesday November 11, 2008
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San Francisco Day Six: The Haze Days

This is the hardest bit of the relocation oddly enough:

The Husband is off to work everyday and I am left behind to find apartments to view, arrange viewings and trying to find a job for myself.

The days meld into one another in a continuous haze of e-mails, notes, tracking sheets, desperation, online search engines, frustration and bad TV.

One thing I had forgotten was how bad Northern American TV can be: The days are filled with mini marathons of one series of another (just cross your fingers it is not the unintelligent Raymond), weird programs with titles like “Is Colon Detox Hype?” (I kid you not) and endless hours of Hannah Montana.

Not to mention the brainless advertisements with the hit-you-on-the-head messages with overjoyed, pretentious kids high on E-numbers, hysterical housewives on the verge of multiple orgasms, macho men driving trucks and eating meat off the bone like cave people…

Zapping through channels is like you are on a psychedelic LSD trip with images flashing in front of you: Dora the Explorer melds into Old Man with an Erectile Dysfunction melds into Kimora Lee stuffing her face while exercising melds into SpongeBob being his Squarepants self..

Here is hoping I will get better soon to at least start gym-ing regularly and after that I will be able to go to work every day and leave Oliver to watch bad TV, because Labradors don’t mind bad TV so long as they have snacks with it

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3UAXU
Wednesday November 05, 2008
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SFO +1:The Jet-lag days

We made it. I won’t get into too many details as Dominic is summing up the trip here very well.  We are in San Francisco and I have absolutely fallen in love with the place and SOMA in particular.

SOMA = Sodermalm Stockholm, Sodermalm = SOMA.

It feels like home. What truly got me was people introducing themselves to me, smiling, shaking hands, helping us. After a year of people walking into us, not aknowledging us and general unhappiness with the lack of emotional mentality, I nearly broke down in tears when a woman extended her hand introduced herself and her daughter, when her daughter wanted to touch Oliver.

In the limo/bus on the drive to the service apartment I nearly broke down in tears as it felt like 15 months of stress just washed off me. Dominic shook me out of it as it would have been catastrophic to break down just before the finish line.

We also went to the super market to get some staples. More on that in a post later on. And yes, I nearly broke down in tears again with the service I received. The people serving me weren’t bored to serve me.

We took Oliver out to a dog enclosed park where he met with another 12 dogs and had a jolly good time running after a ball, socialising and being a dog. Something he hasn’t been able to do for the last 15 months. Indeed, I nearly cried out of joy to see how happy he was.

It has been 24 hours, and I feel at home. I love it.

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3SJXb
Monday November 03, 2008
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SIN to SFO 24 hours to go: The Idle Stress

Here I am having had one day of nothingness (yesterday) stressing for what is known in our household as Phase 2:

Phase 2 is the actual day of the flight with all the planning and co-ordination necessary to get two adults and a big dog onto a flight along with their suitcases while having to hand over an apartment.

The difficulty of leaving a city whilst no relatives (or friends that have become relatives) are living there hit me first when we moved away from London. It felt odd and cold and disjointed when we were doing an apartment hand over at Codrington Court on Rotherhithe with a black cab waiting for us outside with our luggage to take us to Heathrow.

It felt odd leaving Vancouver in Canada, however it had a sense of familiarity to it “We have done this before”. We also had a very good network of friends that supported us and welcomed us to their homes and their lives and where extremely helpful on our way out (temporarily as they see it).

This time it feels almost depressingly familiar. The reason that we have been able to be this organised is because we have done this before and we know that missing a beat will result to “pain” later on. We even booked the same taxi/bus service that got us in from the airport when we first arrived last August.

As it stands, everything bar the mattress pad is getting packed by tonight. I am getting my mani/pedi in a couple of hours which is one of those things that I refuse to not do simply because everyone should take care of themselves, even at times like these.

So close..

Mood:

Floating and anxious

Music of the moment:

Hey Ho, Lets Go by Ramones

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3R5zP
Saturday November 01, 2008
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SIN to SFO 4 days to go: Living in a mostly empty apartment

At this point of the relocation, a sense of relief washes over me:

Part one of three is done with. The stress on this side in regards to packing our whole life in boxes and filling out paperwork and forms and getting approvals to live and work at a country is over and done with. I am 100% certain that I have all I need to live for a month in two suitcases (and two handbags!) and that Oliver has all the things he needs. Dominic is left to fend for his own. We don’t do joint packing, that is something Other People do and we don’t judge them for that, only we just don’t do it in the same way we don’t do joint accounts.

I am now experiencing the “Feh.. isn’t it lovely to not have any furniture in the place. I could live like this!”. The place is just empty and every word bounces around the walls (with Dominic’s recent hearing problem on one ear, it also results to a lot of “EH? I can’t hear you well? All I hear is this buzz”)

On a rare introspective moment (I was pushing a couple of Oliver’s newly dropped hair down the crack between two planks of floor wood.. yeah yeah.. I know) I thought of all those places that I have left parts of me. Literally. All those apartment and houses where parts of my hair or skin will always exist around the world.

And then I freaked out. If I am leaving hair and skin behind, so are others.

This is not a good realisation for a person who is a germaphobe to the tune of never touching anything public unless a scarf, glove or tissue is intercepting her hand (I have also been known to yell in public “DO NOT TOUCH THAT!” to Dominic while he is trying to get the door for me resulting to a lot of people stopping and staring.. and I mean A LOT).

You see, I am the type of person that when washing her hands in a public restroom, I wash the tap itself (twice) because I have no choice but to touch it to get water flowing.

I am the type of person that packed a pair of throw-away slippers I got just to use at the service apartment in San Fran because I can’t stand the thought of my feet walking on a carpet that I haven’t had the chance to disinfect or isn’t mine.

I am that sad fuck that packs some disinfectant wipes to use on the airplane chair and table..  Chyeah.. I know, OK? It is pathetic and embarrassing..

So my anxiety levels are rising: Bleaching a bathroom to death, vacuum to a point of fault before you move in is simply not enough. What is the solution? I am unsure of that.. looking into purification via fire.

I am not fearful of all germs. I don’t mind mine, or my family’s (including the dog’s). However, I do not like the thought of touching a stranger’s filth. This comes after years of observing people’s hygiene habits after they come out of the toilet: How many actually wash their hands? How many wash their hands with soap? How long do they rub the soap in? (for those never thinking of these things, you would be extremely surprised to hear some numbers and yes.. I am trying to scare you to be more like me so that I can feel more Normal, K?)

This has also led to people thinking I am prissy and precious. I am not. Really I am not. I just see a trail of germs glowing green like that advertisement that shows a woman wiping (why is it always a fucking woman? more on that on a future post) a kitchen counter with a raw chicken thigh.

When you see a glass of water and a sugar bowl at the cafe on your table, I see a radioactive mini factory waiting to go nuclear. When you see an elevator button plate, I see a drain covered in fat and hair.

Other than that, I am very very normal! Really!

Mood:

Meh (nothing to do but to watch some stuff on the laptop)

Music du jour:

Go baby, go go by Garbage

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3QHRP
Thursday October 30, 2008
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SIN to SFO 5 days The American Embassy: My Side of Dominic’s Story

This post is in response on Dominic’s latest post “I’m a legal alien”:

So I fully expected this morning to be a complete cock-up. This is due to the fact that Dominic decided that last night, was a good night to Have Drinks with friends. He came home reeking of booze and whilst stumbling during our nightly dog walk he thought he was pulling off the “I only had two drinks” line.. Yeah.. Right…

But I am kind and benevolent and quite a cool spouse, so I didn’t mind. If I minded, I would be in trouble on the upcoming trip when I will be singing “Fly me to the moon…” on top of my lungs, drunk out of my brains, standing on my plush Business Class seat on Singapore Air while the stewardesses are doing back vocals and whooping sounds in the background..

So back to the story.. I expected it to be a total mess, however, we managed to get a cab promptly and arrive at the Embassy dead on time at 7.45 am. Dominic had a concerned look on his face when we arrived and explained he would “Tell” me “later” while I still struggled to untangle the mess of necklaces I pulled from my bag during the ride.

We queued up, went through security, had all electronic device placed in little “safety boxes” and ended up in the welcoming coolness of the A/C-ed room that had small service windows and the employees from the embassy doing their work.

I could sense restlessness.. while I was happily people watching, making up stories about the old lady in the front row, evil eyeing little children (who btw got its chin injured), Dominic was fretting. He kept staring to the little windows, clutching his binder tightly. I asked him if he had a hanky. I asked him again.. The third time I got a “Huh? Umm. No… no.”

I thought there was nothing to it, he would snap out of it: I happily continued people watching the new arrivals who had been unlucky enough to be baked much longer in the hot morning sun just outside the embassy in the queue.

As we were waiting, people came in and were refused different types of visas. All seemed natural: after all they only had a few papers on them and lots of hopes. We, on the other hand, had the Binder Of Doom with a 150-pages legal document with a pre-approval from the USA and loads of pictures of Star War Storm Troopers and George Lucas smiling. I could feel Dominic flustering.. it was like a super nova gathering speed.

So I took a firm decision and started talking to him in a level voice, discussing all kinda things and sharing observations in an effort to distract him. The responses ranged from “Aha” to “Sure” to “eeeeeeee”.

After a short wait we get called to a counter that was enclosed (little chairs and everything). This seemed to make Dominic even more anxious. “Why are we in the Special Booth?” he asked me with panic brewing underneath those lovely eyebrows. I sat down smiling like a Barbie doll.. scrap that.. like Cindy McCain herself and placed a firm hand on the table.

The woman behind the counter and glass asks for document after document. I watch Dominic bluster and fluster and riffle through the commartments of the relocation binder. Dominic couldn’t hear the woman well enough as well due to that massive glass separating us and her so he keeps asking for which document was that or trying to guess.

I decide to step in. Every time she asks for something, I ask “Excuse me, can you repeat that? Is it that X document you want?” She confirms every time. I play puppet master and tell Dominic in a level voice “Hand that document you are holding”, Dominic decides to fight back and say “But she asked for Y document” at which I respond in a calm and pleasant voice “Just hand in that document please, thank you”.

After a repetition of above a couple of times, we are done. She thanks us and tells us to wait for the next step.

We go back to wait to be called again. Dominic is on phase 8.. he is this close to start running around in circles dragging his bottom to the floor (Dog owners know exactly what I am talking about).

I turn around and try the Soft Approach first.. no luck.. Dominic is still talking loudly in high speed (not a good sign)..

I try the British Approach “Calm the bloody hell down!”.. it seems to go through, but only for 30 seconds.

I then try the “Calm down or we’ll be kicked out”. Things happen.. his face changes, he asks me to remove my arm from around him (at this point I would gladly shove my foot in his mouth if it helped).. he breathes.. and suddenly Dominic is back.

We then get called to have our fingerprints electronically taken. This has happened before when we crossed from Canada to the USA visiting some friends in Seattle. That first time was very, very unpleasant. This time not so much, although I am told that my thumb fingerprint taking errored first due to unexpected something or other of my thumbs. Right.

While waiting for the final call, I think fondly about the previous evening and how we rehearsed our favourite things in a silly attempt to recreate the Green Card movie (I will not go into the sinliness of this movie and people being called Brontë and being caught on some stupid slip up). So.. Dominic loves coffee ice cream, I love berry. His second favourite is chocolate chip mint, mine is vanilla. We both have Biotherm morning creams, so no confusion there.

We get called up and this is what felt happened:

American Embassy Person: “You work for Lucas?”

Dominic: “Yes, that’s correct.”

American Embassy Person: “And how long will you be staying in the US?”

Dominic: “As long as you’ll have me! *nervous laugh*”

Mirto: *glares at Dominic*

American Embassy Person: “Ok, I’ve approved your visas. You can pick them up on Tuesday.”

Dominic: “Berry flavoured Haagen Dazs and vanilla Green and Blacks a close second!”

American Embassy Person: *stares*

Mirto: *SIGH*

Dominic: “Um.. We fly on Tuesday so can we pick them up sooner?”

American Embassy Person: “No, I’m afraid it takes two days to process no matter what”.

Dominic: “But I am flyin…”

Mirto: “OK and what time would they be ready on Tuesday?”

American Embassy Person: 2.30 pm, front gate pick up.

Mirto: “Thank you so much”

*drag Dom left exit*

Once out of the room Dominic declared the whole thing a success :)

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3PbK-
Wednesday October 29, 2008
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SIN to SFO 5 1/2 days and counting down

OH MY GAWD SO TIRED and sleee… zzzzzzzzzzz…

Dominic and I are taking turns between being with puppy (and friend puppy) at our friend’s Linda’s home and babysitting the packers. Morning shift was Dominic. Afternoon will be mine as I am on my way right now.

All I want is to close my eyes and sleep like these dogs are: On this plush, thick carpet, with a plush teddy bear for a pillow (Adorables!).

Can’t though, have to wait till 6 when the packers are gone. Then I’ll sleep till tomorrow morning at 6, at which point I have to prep to goto the American Embassy and beg them to ensure my passport is stamped by Monday.

So tye-tye…

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3PB9Q
Wednesday October 29, 2008
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SIN to SFO 6 days and counting down

Today came the normal (and anticipated) Breaking Point.

The Breaking Point of a Relocation comes when no one can be arsed to do anything. Not even Oliver (The Dog) wanted to do much. We all kinda dragged ourselves around the apartment pretending to be busy whilst sneaking in checking news, our e-mail, reading and all in all just standing in the middle of a “bombed” apartment.

So Dominic and I took the executive decision and took us out on a walk (across the bridge), while the sun was shining (scorching hot 45C singing the back of your neck), for a cold refreshment (a jug of fine ale).

Oliver gets to come along in these outings across the bridge ‘cause it is al fresco (under shades and with huge fans blowing). He gets given a bowl of ice with a bit of water. All Oliver does is bob for ice (blowing bubbles and all) and looking very wet and extremely happy while the harangued waiters keep topping his bowl up.

I had taken my legal pad with me (I prefer the Cambridge brand myself) and my trusted fountain pen and decided it was time for a new list of Things to Be Done. This was necessary to calm Dominic down and make him feel at peace with the world. The beer helped as well. By the end we were scribbling happily on the pad, laughing loudly, throwing ice around much to the waiters dismay. We were alone however in the outside area, so no harm, no fuss.

So we had a Brand New List, a full tummy and a craving for a nap.

Bear in mind, when I met Dominic he was a proper British. He didn’t nap. Napping was something that Mediterranean people did along with drinking olive oil and crushing garlic with our thighs (nothing he didn’t commend or like, just un-British).

It took time.

It took experimenting to find his time of day, duration and wake up method but it happened:
Dominic learned how to nap.

He understands the necessity of waking up before getting a full cycle.. he now understands the subtleties of how long after eating you should partake to this and what a great second wind it gives you.

So here we are, almost 10 pm the night prior the packers are coming in, less than 12 hours away from our apartment being packed, tetris-ed in a 20’ container and we are chilled and ready to take on the last 4 hours of work we have to do to prep the apartment.

Life is good.

Mood:

Happy (joy joy)

Caffeinated (against doctor’s orders)

Music of the moment:

Peppy pop to keep us upbeat

Posted http://tmblr.co/ZpfCay3NxT-
Monday October 27, 2008
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SIN to SFO 8 days and counting down

Today was busy:

We sorted all the shoes out because I can’t stand how the movers “pack” shoes. Throwing shoes into a cardboard box with no stuffing or separation is not packing shoes, it is taking the piss and disrespectful to my lovely shoes. So in any case, I decided to sort out all shoes and bags prior to them arriving. They are now safely packed and loved and waiting for their lovely boat ride.

Dominic and I also finished all we could for the air shipment, which essentially are the things that stay with us after the movers are gone on Friday and being picked up on Tuesday morning just before our flight. They are also the first things delivered on the other side (within two weeks of getting there) so that going into our new apartment (after the month in the service apartment) we have a set of plates and a cushion to sleep on.

I have made Relocating into a form of Art.

Our bedroom is lined with the air shipment cardboard boxes in a nice Tetris block, the apartment is stripped from all its dress, the washing machine hasn’t stopped working and our luggage are 3/4 packed. All has been washed, dried and prepared in neat little piles from carpets and cushions to socks and coats. Even Oliver has now been washed and neatly placed in a pile waiting for shipment.

If the movers find any way to fuck this move up I will stop believing in control and order and preparation and lists and embrace Anarchy as my one, true religion; this move is bloody locked, sealed and tight like a small car filled with a company of clowns.

Now.. if only Agent Clank (the game I chose as the best over-Pacific flight PSP piece of fun) was delivered from Play-Asia tomorrow then the set is complete.

On the visa front, after all the panic and gnashing and oyying we have now been informed that we can go with soft copies since all is verified electronically……. Hang on. What? Sorry.. I thought I heard that you could have sent us all this on Friday via soft copies (email copies for the technology impaired amongst us) but you failed because you were confident in what a clerk, at a Cinko’s desk told you on a Friday evening at 6? No seriously.. WHAT?!! You didn’t think to at least do both?

It is moments like this that I feel I am the only fucking efficient person in this world.

Now I know this is not true. My sister in law Sus is bloody fucking organised too (it is her particularity of organising folders and office drawers that drove me to a new level of planning when I met her). Apart from that, I am not sure. Chaos most likely.

I firmly believe the World is held together by some rubber bands and paper clips while the decisions are made by someone with a magic 8 ball that can’t spell worth a penny. Might I also add that my belief is proving to be right given the latest financial situation around the world. Who would have thought that allowing people with a low basic salary, to spend like they are earning the money an upper middle class person does could even go wrong. Hej… Louboutins for everyone! You are a teacher? Not a problem! You can still hold a Chanel bag while clutching the keys to your brand new Merc. You can pay whenever!

Feeling:


Narky (Don’t provoke me.. it could get ugly)

Sleepy (waiting for legal documents to be e-mailed before going to bed)

At peace (for now)